


Not the last man on Earth

by naturegirlrocks



Category: Sherlock (TV), WALL-E (2008)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Cats, Eve!Sherlock, M/M, Partly inspired by the Walking Dead, Post-Zombie Apocalypse, Wall-E!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naturegirlrocks/pseuds/naturegirlrocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has been alone in the ruins of London for five years. Then suddenly a tall stranger in white appears, and John is not alone anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a old idea of mine. I have seen a few Sherlock/Wall-E crossovers before, but this is my take on it.

John didn't know much about the world outside the army base where he grew up and learned to practice basic medicine. He didn't even know how old he was, but if he strained his memory he could remember about thirty Christmases.

The base had been overrun by zombies and everyone had been killed but John, who miraculously got away. It was the morgue personnel that had made simple, but deadly, mistake of not burning one of their dead in time.

How ever healthy you were, you were still infected, and you always turned to a zombie after you died. 

He had held out for a very long, lonely and cold winter. His only company had been his undead friends and family that were not decomposing, though slowly starving, in the snow outside.

When spring arrived he had decapitated them all before heat got back in their dead limbs. 

He then decided to head for the ruins of London.

It had taken him three months to walk. He only deviated to hunt, seek shelter, or to scavenge. It was now the height of summer when he arrived to the outskirts of the city. 

That was now five years ago. Five years alone in an abandoned city. Still it was better than on the base with all it's bad memories. 

He hummed on an old melody as he adjusted the crossbow that hung over his shoulder. 

He liked it here. Even though the large city had been abandoned for several decades and overgrown with vines and other vegetation it still spoke of its times of glory. 

It also offered good protection from the zombies. 

Well, it would have offered good protection if there were any zombies left to seek protection from. He hadn't seen a single one since entering the city.

Still, John kept his crossbow with him at all times, and practiced it when ever he had a chance. At least he could hunt for his food more safely now that he no longer had any undead to shoot. 

He also carried an axe strapped to his backpack. 

John had set up base in a flat he had found on his first day exploring. It wasn't big or fancy, but that was just how he liked it. It was important to keep thing simple. 

Though he wouldn't mind some company.  
Not that he was alone, a small league of cats seemed to have adopted him, but he longed for some human interaction. 

During the winters he hibernated, sleeping away the cold as much as he could to preserve energy. It was a trick he had learned from the cats. 

Sometimes he wondered if he was the last not dead man alive on Earth. Reading old books and seeing pictures of people being friends and lovers only made him more alone. 

There was always at least five of cats in the flat. He had no idea how they got in but he liked the company. John's favourite was large orange-coloured one that he had named 'Gladstone'.

Gladstone seemed to follow him everywhere. 

Today John and Gladstone was out exploring the castle by the river. According to the 'The London A-Z', one of his favourite books as a child, there was where the British Government had lived. It had one large tower with a clock on it. 

There had once been a large bridge there as well, but now there was just rubble. John guessed it had been destroyed to keep zombies on the other side of the river. 

The clock on the tower was stuck on twelve minutes past five. John often wondered if it had been morning or evening when it stopped. 

The water looked lovely, and the day was hot, so John decided to take a dip. There had been a lake near the base so John had learned to swim and fish at a young age. 

John took off his backpack. He placed the crossbow and the axe so that they would be easy to reach in a event of emergency. Zombies never moved into the water. 

He placed his clothes and shoes in a pile next to the pack, and climbed naked into the water. John avoided looking at his own reflection, or his body, knowing he would only feel bad if he did.

He could see down to the bottom. There was a lot of old junk down there, even cars. But there was also a lot of fish swimming around. 

"See that Gladstone?" he asked the cat by the edge of the water. "We will be eating like kings tonight." 

John took one of his arrows, put it in his mouth, and swam out into the water. It was glorious. The water tasted a bit of iron, but wasn't bad. 

Gladstone sat by the river edge, basking in the sun. 

John looked down and saw a large shoal of fish. He took a deep breath and dived. He took the arrow in his hand. Swimming a few calm strokes he shot out his arm and stabbed a fish through the gill. 

The other fish scattered and John swam to the surface with his catch. The fish was about the size of his hand. John broke its neck quickly since he didn't like to see it suffer.

He swam to the shore, placing the fish out of Gladstone's reach. The cat didn't seem to care, but John had his dinner eaten by cats before. 

He caught a few more fishes before sitting down enjoying the sun, drying off on the remains of the bridge. 

Then there was a noise. A noise John had never heard before. He stood up and listened. 

It was a kind of engine. John hasn't heard an engine since the army base, and nothing like this. 

An engine meant people. 

John quickly pulled his trousers on. He wrapped the fish in his shirt, and put it in his backpack. 

The noise seemed to be coming from the other side of the castle. John got the pack on, and took his weapons. The crossbow was in his left hand and the axe in his right. 

Coming around the corner John saw a helicopter hovering a not far from the ground. He had only seen helicopters in pictures before. It was amazing.

Then a door opened on the side of the helicopter. John stepped back, hiding behind a pile of rubble. 

A rope was lowered down to the ground. John held his breath as a man, all dressed in white, slid down the rope and landed smoothly on the ground.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets a friend.

The word 'handsome' would be best describe the man, but for someone who had been alone for such a long time as John there was really no other word than 'beautiful'.

He was tall, broad shouldered, and thin. His hair was black and curly. 

The white full-bodysuit was like a second skin on him. The white boots reached up to his knees. He had a white hard plastic backpack. His hands were covered in white gloves, he had really long fingers. A gun was strapped to each of his thighs. 

The man sheltered his eyes from the sun as the helicopter moved away. John couldn't take his eyes of the man. 

John moved a little to have a closer look. He accidentally toppled a stone in the rubble. 

The man turned like lightning and shoot away part of the corner of the castle. The corner that John had hidden behind earlier was now gone.

John's heart skipped several beats. 

Then he panicked again since Gladstone was walking right up to the man and rubbed against his leg. 

The man looked down at the cat for a moment. Then he holstered the gun, bent down, and cuddled Gladstone's head. John's heart melted a bit.

 _If only I could be his friend,_ John thought.

The man looked around. He had a small electronic device that seemed be some kind of a map, because he was looking at it all the time. 

When the man started walking, John followed at a safe distance. 

After about an hour it was clear the man was looking for something. He had entered what once had been a hospital. John had already explored it a couple of times. 

As a medical man he had found it fascinating, though very little of the stuff there actually still worked. He had scavenged a few things he thought could be of use for his own health, and that of the cats. 

The white-dressed man seemed more and more agitated, clearly not finding what he was looking for. 

With a frustrated sound he shot at the closest wall. Half of it crumbled to the floor. He then sat down, pushing the sunglasses to his forehead, and rubbing his face in frustration. 

John moved closer, feeling a need to comfort the man. 

"That's as far as you go," said the man with a deep voice, turning to face John. "I know you have been following me. You are crap at hiding and you smell of fish." 

The man's eyes where grey, with hints of green and blue. John felt something profound stir inside him. He wetted his lips. 

"Who are you?" asked the man narrowing his eyes. "I can see you were brought up military, trained in medicine, you have once been badly injured but you survived, and you lost your family to the walkers. But who are you?"

"I'm John," said John amazed. "John Watson. How did you know all that?"

"After the walkers came, the camps best equipped to survive were the military ones. Since you are still young you were born in such a camp, and raised the only way they knew how. You know medicine because it's the best thing for a young man to know to survive in a world like this. You have obviously been injured in your left shoulder. I see the scar, even though you try to hide it with the strap for your backpack. You have been treating it yourself. You also hold your axe to the right for a better swing, even though you are left-handed. Loosing your family to walkers was just a guess, but you seem like a person living alone."

"That was fantastic," said John. 

"Do you think so?" the man bit his lower lip.

"Yes!" John blushed. "What's your name?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Sherlock," repeated John with a smile, it was a nice name. "What are you looking for?"

"It's classified," Sherlock looked away. 

"Okay..." John licked his lips. "Look, it'll be dusk soon. Do you have anywhere safe to sleep? You can come home with me if you want to. I can cook fish, and we can eat it."

"Sounds acceptable," nodded Sherlock. "Lead the way."

John grinned. He had made the first step in making a friend. It felt wonderful. He wanted to hold Sherlock's hand to actually feel he was there, but was afraid that it would be a bit forward since they just met. 

John led Sherlock back to his flat. Sherlock didn't say much on the way, he was mostly looking at the buildings, the old shop fronts, and the plants growing everywhere. He was a bit intrigued by some skeletal remains that was laying about as well. 

"There aren't any walkers here," he said. 

"Haven't seen any zombies in a long time," answered John. 

"They are not zombies," said Sherlock. "'Zombie' is a misunderstood word from the voodoo religion. You should call them 'walkers'."

"Oh, I didn't know that." John stopped. "This is where I live. On the second floor."

Sherlock nodded and let himself be showed inside. The downstairs hallway was cluttered with stuff, like books, old toys, silverware, and clothes. 

"I collect things," said John and blushed. "It gives me something to do."

"Understandable," Sherlock followed him up the stairs. 

John took off his pack and started unpacking the fish. It wouldn't hold much longer unprepared. The flat had a fireplace were he cooked and prepared his food. 

He felt a bit exposed with no shirt on, and his bare back to Sherlock. He had always been taught never to turn his back on a stranger, bit somehow he didn't feel at all scared for his safety. 

Two cats were stretched out on the old sofa. They looked suspiciously at Sherlock, but the sniffed the air in interest when there was food around. 

"They are wild," said John as Sherlock looked at the cats closer. "Be careful. They are only here because I give them food. Gladstone is the only one I have been able to properly cuddle."

"Hm," acknowledged Sherlock, sitting down next to John on the floor. 

He had taken off his gloves, he had really nice fingers. John wondered what it would be like to hold Sherlock's hand. 

John took a surprised breath as one of the long fingers touched his left shoulder, his scar to be exact. He felt a wonderful new warmth inside him, and his heart sped up. 

"I didn't see it properly before," said Sherlock in a low voice. "But that's a bite."

"A zom- I mean _walker_ ," John swallowed, looking away in shame. 

"You let it bite you," Sherlock was still touching him. 

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Everyone was dead or infected," John looked down on the fish. "I- I- didn't want to be alone..."

"No," Sherlock shook his head. "Why are you still alive?"

"Oh," John looked into Sherlock's beautiful eyes. "I don't really know. Everybody I could ask were already dead. I just got a really bad fever for a couple of days. But I have been thinking about it a lot."

"And your deductions?"

"Well..." John hesitated, he didn't want Sherlock to look at him as a freak.

"People think I'm weird."

"What?" 

"I can tell that you are worried," said Sherlock, still examining the scar. "I thought you might fell better knowing that people think I'm weird."

John laughed. He did feel better, but also sad for Sherlock.

"I don't think you are weird," he said. "I think you are wonderful."

"You are only saying that because you lived with only cats for several years."

There was a hint of a smile on Sherlock's lips. John laughed again. He took a breath. 

"I don't really know how I survived. I have a theory, but I don't know..."

"When you eliminated the impossible, what ever is left, how ever improbable, must be the truth."

"You are really clever," John nodded, yet again feeling amazed. 

"Your theory?" Sherlock smiled. 

"Oh, yes," John straightened up. "I wasn't born at the military base actually. They found me, well, actually, they found my mother..."

"I see," Sherlock nodded eagerly. "A pregnant walker."

"They put her down, and cut me out of her. When they found I was healthy, they kept me."

"So you could have developed antibodies to the walkers in the womb. That's why you didn't turn when you were bitten."

John nodded. It made him feel sad to remember. 

"Can I take some samples of your blood?"

"Sure," John smiled, happy to be of service to Sherlock. 

Sherlock took off his own backpack. John was slightly fascinated by the hard white plastic. He stared as Sherlock unpacked a pack of syringes and some test-tubes. 

"I've never seen a new ones before," he said. "What's the name of your base?"

"Scotland," said Sherlock, preparing the test tubes for sampling. 

"Oh," John had heard about that, not as a base but as a country. "Large base."

"My grandfather was working for the government when the news of the first walkers came from America," Sherlock took John's arm and tied a rubber band from his bag around it. "He was quite mad and paranoid, but powerful and rich enough to set up a contingency plan. He saved a fifth of the country's population."

"Really?" 

"Yes," he expertly pushed the needle through the skin of John's inner elbow. "At least that was what they tell me."

John looked at the dark red liquid filling the phial. He closed his eyes, feeling a bit dizzy. He felt Sherlock change to a new phial. 

"It disturbs you," said Sherlock. "Living blood. It's not like the walkers blood."

"No..." John took breathed slowly. "It's not. Sometimes I have nightmares."

"Finished," Sherlock patted John's arm with a small cloth. "I'll do a preliminary analyse on it." 

John opened his eyes. Sherlock was unpacking a few more things from the backpack, including what seem to be a small microscope and some laboratory equipment. 

Sherlock connected his little hand-map device with a cord to the microscope. A light on the microscope was turned on. John realised that the science in Scotland must be quite advanced. 

"Is that a computer?" he asked. "I read about those. There was several old ones at the base, but none if them worked."

"It is a computer, yes," Sherlock looked a bit confused that John didn't know. "I forgot that without electricity, technology goes backwards."

"We had electricity," objected John.

"Dynamos?" Sherlock gave him a smug smile. 

"Yes."

"You had to ride a stationary bike to keep the lights on."

"Yes?"

"My point is made."

Sherlock got on with his work. John felt stupid without knowing why. He wanted to look at Sherlock work, but was reminded by the cats that must get on with the food. 

Sherlock didn't make much noise as he investigated John's blood. John found that he didn't care, the company was enough for him. For the first time in a long time he actually felt happy. 

About twenty minutes later he served Sherlock a plate of fried fish. To celebrate, he had also fried some of the potatoes he had found and dug up from a former garden not far away. Sherlock hardly looked at the plate. 

After a few minutes more the food was cold, and John had to shoo away the cats from it. He didn't really mind. 

John settled to watch the other man work. He really was very handsome, and John soon got lost in a pleasant daydream about his favourite features. 

"This is cold."

"Hmm?" John looked up, away from a fantasy involving lovely curved lips. "What?"

"The potatoes are cold and the cats ate my fish."

"Oh," John blinked. "Do you want me to heat it up?"

"The fire's gone out."

So it had. John looked around, it was dusk outside the windows. He wondered how long he had been sitting there. Sherlock smirked. 

"Time flies when you are having fun," he said, looking between John and his tiny computer. "I think I've identified an anomaly in your blood."

"Is that good?" John yawned. 

"I need better equipment to know for sure."

"I need to get some sleep."

Now that Sherlock was here, they would need more food. Even though the man didn't seem to eat much, John knew he must eat sometime. That meant they had to go hunting tomorrow, and also scavenge some places were he knew wild vegetables were growing. 

He was really looking forward to showing off his providing-skills to Sherlock. 

They walked to the bedroom, where John realised something. Sherlock said it first though. 

"Do you only have one bed?"

"I'm sorry," John desperately bit his lip. "I didn't think about that. There is another one downstairs, but it's a bit dusty..."

"It's fine. We can share. I don't sleep much anyway." 

"Oh, okay," John shifted. 

He still hadn't put a new shirt on, though he didn't need one since the evening is warm. John wondered for a moment how Sherlock was going to get out of the white bodysuit. 

The answer was that he didn't. Sherlock only unstrapped his weapons before settling down on the bed. 

Sherlock fell asleep before John. 

In his last waking moment John sneaked his hand around Sherlock's. It wasn't for any particular reason, just to assure himself that he wasn't alone anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

When John woke up he was alone. First he panicked. Then he was sad because it had been a dream. Then he panicked again as he remembered it not being a dream. 

He shot out of bed, scaring the shit out if the three cats that had snuggled up against his back, looking around for Sherlock. The man wasn't it the flat. 

John grabbed a t-shirt and his axe, and ran outside. There was no sight of Sherlock anywhere. 

But he heard a noise. It was the same noise he heard yesterday. The helicopter!

"Sherlock," John breathed. "No. I don't want to be alone anymore."

John started running towards the sound of the helicopter. He didn't care that his feet was bare. He dropped the axe, but kept running. 

"Stay here, Gladstone," he called to the cat hat was following him. 

Turning a corner he caught sight of the helicopter, Sherlock's white figure was climbing inside next to the pilot. 

John ran. 

There wasn't any doors to the sides of the helicopter so the cargo- and passenger-space was open. John threw himself inside. 

He had to hold on hard to a railing not to fall back out as the machine lifted off the ground. The loud noise of the engines and the wind blocked out all other sounds. 

It took him a while to get used to the sensation of flying, but then he managed to relax. He loosened his grip on the railing and lodged himself to a more secure and less straining position. 

Neither of the two men in the front seemed to have noticed him, and there was no way they would hear him. Even if he shouted. Both of them were also wearing large things over their ears.

As he looked around he saw another pair of ear-protectors on a hook not far away. He hesitated for a moment but then reached out and put them on. 

The noise was immediately muffled, and a ringing that he didn't know he had had in his ears stopped. He relaxed even more and actually dared to look outside. 

John, who never been higher up than the forth floor of a building, was amazed by the view. There was so much green and yellow, with spots of red and blue. 

He looked up to the back of Sherlock's head, watching the black curls move in the wind. Strangely enough, the pilot held none of his interest other than being another person. 

He lay still watching the wonderful landscape pass by as he slowly fell asleep, lulled by the engines. 

He was woken by a lot of shaking and moving around. John looked around and noticed that they had landed. 

The sun was high, so John guessed he had slept for a few hours. He untangled himself and got out of the helicopter. 

They had landed on a large tarmac of some sort. John could see other vehicles like small cars and more helicopters not far away. 

Taking off his ear-protection he immediately heard Sherlock's voice. 

He moved to the other side of the helicopter, seeing Sherlock talking to a woman not far away. 

The woman, who was dressed in some kind of dark blue uniform, was moving a glowing blue baton over Sherlock's white clothing. Sherlock had his back to John. 

"Do we have to do this every time, Sally?" asked Sherlock in a bored voice. 

"Yes we do," answered the woman named Sally. "You know the rules about contamination. Look!"

Sally pointed with her glowing baton on a glowing smudge on the white fabric on Sherlock's hip. She huffed, took out a can from her belt and sprayed the stain. Next time she took the light to it the stain was gone. 

"Had Anderson coming for lunch did you?"

Sally widened her eyes and quickly looked down on her uniform, it was clean, even in the blue light. 

"Made you look," smirked Sherlock.

John was caught between blushing and giggling. 

"Get out of here," Sally growled. 

Sherlock gave a small laugh and began walking towards a building not far away. 

Not wanting to loose sight of his friend John hurried after him. He almost knocked Sally over as he did. 

"Sorry," John took her wrist to stable her. 

"Who are you?" she looked him over, raising an eye over his bare feet. 

"I'm John," John smiled. "Er, I'm with him."

"With Sherlock? Go figure, he's picking up strays."

"Sorry," said John again. 

"It's fine. I..."

They both looked down on the glowing handprint on her sleeve. 

"Oh!" she yelled and sprayed her arm with her can. 

"I'm sorry!" John touched her again, and another stain was visible in the light. "I'm..."

"Ah!" Sally sprayed more. 

John looked around and noticed that he couldn't see Sherlock anymore. He panicked a little, and ran towards the building. 

He left Sally to her spraying. 

Reaching the building he couldn't see Sherlock anywhere. It was a very large building. John could only compare the size and outlay to some of the so called 'shopping centres' that he had seen withering away in London. 

But this place wasn't withering away. There were people, lots and lots of people. All of them were wearing uniforms, but of many different sorts of cuts and colours. Everyone also had a small computer in their hand, some even connected it to their ears. 

John also noticed that only the few people wearing dark-blue uniforms had weapons strapped to their hips. It was almost disturbing to see so many unarmed people, but actually it must mean that the place was totally secure from walkers. 

He didn't see any other white uniforms, they seemed to be rare.

Everywhere there was lights, voices, meddled music, movements, and smells. It was very overwhelming for someone who had spent the last five years alone with a bunch of cats. 

Again John started to panic. 

"Sherlock?" he called, raising his voice slightly. "Sherlock?"

For a moment he thought he saw someone dressed in white, so he gathered all his courage, and stepped into the crowd. 

He immediately bumped into someone. A man, with slightly greying hair and a dark-blue uniform with several silver buttons. The man fell to the ground and dropped his tiny computer. It skittered away over the floor. 

John gasped and jumped after it, finely avoiding tripping more people over. He then hurried back to help the man to his feet.

"I'm sorry," said John, giving the apparatus back. "I'm John."

"Greg," the man blinked as if he was blinded. 

"I'm looking for my friend. Sherlock. Have you seen him?"

Greg blinked again, clearly surprised. 

"No..." he looked John over. "But there is a guy called Sherlock Holmes always messaging me about police work..."

"Are you a police?" asked John, having read all about it. 

"Yes..." Greg looked around. "Though I'm not sure how I got here. Or where I am..."

He frowned at the people walking by, all in their own little world. 

John sighed. But then caught sight of a tall figure dressed in white and black locks. 

"Sherlock," he breathed. "Got to go. Bye!"

"Bye," said Greg in a confused voice. 

John hurried after Sherlock. He was closing in when he saw Sherlock stepping inside some sort of long vehicle there. It was full of people, so John guessed it was a public transport of some sort. 

He felt a bit unsure with so many people in a tight space. It was amazing that they even existed. Again, strangely enough, nobody of them really mattered to him. 

Everyone inside were also wearing some kind of uniform, but none of them white. They all also had each a small computer. 

He was worried to lose Sherlock again, so he hurried aboard just as the vehicle was about to leave. 

He tried to move through the stationary crowd to get closer to Sherlock.

"...after the age of thirty you just don't meet anyone new," said a young woman in green to the device on her ear. "We are all on our rafts..."

"Excuse me," John gestured that he wanted to pass. 

"Oh," she looked up. "Sorry. Sure. Oh!"

She fumbled with her device, managing to turn it off in the process. She frowned at it.

"Thank you," John passed her but found to his dismay that the rest of the path to Sherlock was blocked.

He sighed and decided to wait until they stopped. 

John looked to the woman he just passed. She was looking around herself in a confused manner, just like Greg had. She was a bit younger than him, but about his hight. He smiled at her. 

"Hello," he said. "I'm John."

She blinked. 

"Molly."

"I came with my friend," said John. "Sherlock. He's over there."

"That's nice..." she looked around. "You know, I don't think I ever looked out the window before. It's quite pretty isn't it?"

Now it was John's turn to blink. He looked outside. They were traveling through a town, it was well kept. There was no overgrown vegetation, no wreckages, and no dead people. 

"Yes," he said. "It is."

Suddenly they stopped, John almost fell over but the rest of the passengers didn't even seem to care, too busy with their small computers. Sherlock got up and out. 

"Got to go," said John. "Good luck with your raft by the way."

"Thank you," blushed Molly.

John followed Sherlock inside a large brick building. Outside the stone ground was burning his feet, inside the marble was cool.

He was irritated that he still hadn't caught up with Sherlock, but blamed it on the man's long legs, and his own unfamiliarity with the surroundings.

Sherlock continued walking towards a big door. 

A pretty woman with dark hair and red lips was sitting by a desk beside the door. There was a large computer on her desk, but she still seemed to prefer to use her small handheld one. 

Sherlock passed her without a look. John followed.

"Hello," he smiled at the woman and waived. 

She blinked in surprise, it seemed to be a common reaction here. John hurried through the door before she could say anything. 

 

TBC.


	4. Chapter 4

They were in a large control-room. It was full of screens, and buttons, and small lights, and big lights. 

John was suddenly filled with a bit of nostalgia. Back at the base they had, but only on special occasions, connected the dynamo to their own control room to see the pretty lights flickering. 

"Shirley," said a smooth voice. "Back so soon?"

John saw dark-haired a man, about his own age, come forward to greet Sherlock. He was wearing a similar uniform to Sherlock's, but completely black. 

"Jim," said Sherlock in a bored voice. "I need to see Mycroft."

"Have you made an appointment?"

"He's my brother, _Jim_. I don't need an appointment."

"He's asleep."

"Then wake him up. I may have found the beginnings of a anti-serum for the walkers."

"Really?" Jim raised an eyebrow. "Does it work?"

"It needs more research," Sherlock crossed his arms. "But I think it will."

Jim stepped closer to Sherlock, really closer. John felt uncomfortable at the sight. 

"How was London?"

"Empty."

"You don't say?" 

Jim actually seemed to smell Sherlock's neck. Sherlock took a step back and pushed Jim away. 

John knew he had only known Sherlock for a day, and this man must have known him much longer, but he still felt some sense of possession. 

"Very well," Jim smirked, pushed a button and leaned into a small microphone. "Sir, you are needed in the control room."

John, who had been leaning on a wall, was surprised when the wall slid to the side, revealing itself as a door. He fell to the floor into a new room. 

There was a large bed, and in the bed laid a bare chested man who was just waking up. Luckily the man hadn't noticed John. 

John scrambled to his feet. 

"Coffee," murmured the man in a grumpy voice. 

John looked around. He knew what coffee was, it had been mentioned in his books and he had seen old moulding packages in long since abandoned shops in London. 

A machine began to hum close by, and a strain of steaming black liquid poured out of it into a cup. John hurried over, grabbed the cup, and gave it to the man with a hesitant smile. 

The man didn't even seem to notice anything else but the coffee. John shifted, he worried about Sherlock being alone with that Jim fellow.

With a last look at the coffee-drinking man John hurried back to the control room. 

"Oh!" Jim leered when he saw John. "Shirley, you brought a pet with you!"

"What?" Sherlock turned. "John? What are you doing here?"

"I followed you," John took a hesitant step forward, his eyes darting between the two men, wondering what had happened the short moment he was away. 

"I told you to stay," Sherlock hurried over to him. "Didn't you read my note that I'd be back in a few days?"

"I didn't see a note..." John looked up at the taller man, and felt a bit ashamed. "I didn't want to be alone again, so I panicked."

"Aw," grinned Jim. "Just like a little puppy."

"Shut the fuck up!" growled Sherlock over his shoulder. 

"Language, Sherlock!"

The voice came from the tall man entering the control room. He was now wearing a white uniform but with a gold-braided jacket. He was still holding the cup. 

Sherlock closed his eyes as if to gather strength, and then looked straight into John's eyes. 

"Stay back here," he said. "Let me do the talking."

John nodded.

"Sir," said Jim. "Your _brother_ is here."

"Thank you, Jim." The man named Mycroft sat down in a large chair and started pressing several buttons on the board before him.

Several screens flickered on showing images of different people in different parts of the settlement. John felt a bit overwhelmed this the prospect of so many people.

"Mycroft..." started Sherlock. 

"Wait!" Mycroft gave him a glare. "We must go through protocol."

" _Pro_ tocol," mimicked Sherlock with a mocking voice. 

John giggled nervously. Jim looked him over. 

Mycroft took up handheld computer of his own and started to go through some seemingly well rehearsed motions. 

"I must write my daily message to the citizens..." 

"I have made an remarkable breakthrough!" boasted Sherlock to his inattentive brother. "I may have the cure for the walkers!"

"Cure?" Mycroft stopped and looked at Sherlock like he had grown another head. 

"Yes!" Sherlock smiled like a superhero. "Right here..." He patted one of his pockets, and his face face fell. "What the...?"

"Well?" 

"I had it..." Sherlock began looking around.

"Sherlock," Mycroft sighed. "Do I need to send you back to medical?"

Jim chuckled to himself, pretending to look busy by typing on a keyboard. John gave him a suspicious look, he didn't like the man. 

"No," sulked Sherlock. 

"I hope not," Mycroft wrote a few notes on a keyboard. "Now, who is this?"

Mycroft had turned his eyes on John, his non-uniform, and bare dirty feet. 

"I'm John," said John holding out his hand with a kind smile. "Hello."

Mycroft carefully took the offered hand and shook it once with a slight surprise on his face. He then looked down on his hand, examining a stain that John accidentally left on one of the long white cuffs. 

"Take them both to medical," he said.

Two large guards entered the room taking hold of both of them. John tensed up and would have fought the both guards, and won, if Sherlock hadn't looked so angry. 

"John!" Sherlock stamped his foot on the floor like a child. 

"What did I do?" 

Sherlock just grumbled as he obliged to follow the guards. John followed him, still confused over why he had gotten in his new friend's bad graces. 

John heard Mycroft speak to Jim.

"Did Sherlock find that man in London?" 

"I believe he did, sir."

"Fascinating," said Mycroft before the closing door cut him off from John's hearing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that I haven't updated in a while. It had to do with a combination of the manic discovery of both 'Welcome to Night Vale' and 'Pride and Prejudice and Zombies'.  
> I apologise. <3

As they was brought out of the control room they passed the pretty dark-haired woman again. John gave her a apologetic smile and waved. 

She waved back, then she stared at her hand as if it has done something rebellious. 

Sherlock and John were taken, through the uniformed computing crowd, with a small car-like vehicle towards another large building with a large blue cross on it. 

John, now having found Sherlock, took a better look around. He felt a bit small in this new place. He looked at Sherlock sitting next to him. 

The taller man was pouting with his arms crossed. John must have done something really bad to upset his new friend. 

John was placed in a room with a few other people. He was about to protest and follow Sherlock when the man gave him a hard look that clearly said _no_. 

John sat down next to a woman with her right hand wrapped in a towel and watched Sherlock be let to a adjoining room by the guards. 

He hoped this wouldn't take long. John needed to take Sherlock back home and feed him. Also, he missed Gladstone and the other cats. 

He smiled at the woman next to him. She was pushing the buttons on her small computer with her left, and clearly not dominating, hand. There were cords coming out her ears to the computer, and she seemed to be talking to a moving picture of a woman on the screen.

"Mhm, I _know_ , sweetie. I _know_ ," she purred to the picture. 

"Do you wan't me to look at your hand for you?" asked John. 

She gave him her bundled hand without even looking up from the screen. No one else in the room seemed to care, too lost in their own worlds. John hesitated for a moment at the strangeness, but then unwrapped the towel. 

"You sound like _naughty_ girl," hummed the woman. 

John blushed slightly. 

The fabric was wet and the hand had a red burn on the palm. Not a burn from a fire but rather something flat and round. 

John reached into his pocket. He took up a small metal container of salve he always kept with him to take care of small cuts and nettle-stings when he was out hunting. The container had a very worn picture of a piece of candy on it. 

He applied the salve to the burn as the woman started talking dirty and dirtier to her computer. It was actually interesting to listen to, and John mind wondered to Sherlock many times. 

" _Aaah! Idiot!_ " came Sherlock's voice from behind the door. " _Imbecile!_ "

John let go of the woman's hand, which he had been treating longer than necessary, and got to his feet. Sherlock's scream had been in agony. He was in danger. 

Without thinking John broke down the door. Hurried inside, turned over a table, smashed a large computer screen, and pushed aside a man in a green uniform holding a syringe. 

"John!" screamed Sherlock.

"Sherlock!" called John, hurrying forward, looking for injuries. "Are you alright? I heard you scream."

"Just fumble fingers here with his stupid booster-shot," Sherlock rubbed his left arm. 

The green uniformed fumble fingered man was currently staring at the smashed computer screen in disbelief. John felt a bit guilty. 

"Come on then," Sherlock sighed. "Let's get another blood sample so I can do over the testing."

"Okay," John smiled, happy to be of service. 

Sherlock's weapons-belt was on the back of the chair, he reached for it. At that moment a man in a black uniform surprisingly came running into the room, John reacted with hitting him to the floor. 

"Oh!" he said slightly panicked. "I'm so..."

An beeping alarm went off. John looked back at Sherlock who had one of his weapons raised. He looked absolutely pissed.

"What happened?" John shouted over the alarm?

"I forgot the safety-trigger," Sherlock shook his head and grabbed hold of John's wrist. "Come! We have to leave. I can fix this later."

John let himself get pulled along out of the room and then the whole building entirely. He was happy to run beside Sherlock, hand in hand. 

That was when they passed a large screen. Sherlock stopped dead and stared on it. John tilted his head. Those people on the screen looked like him punching a man and Sherlock wielding a gun around.

"The safety trigger," said Sherlock. "The security cameras recognises acts, and poses, of violence, and puts out a warning to the public."

Sherlock took up his small computer from his pocket. The same picture was on the smaller screen. 

"Are we wanted?" John frowned, having read all about it.

"I believe we are," Sherlock pulled John's arm. "Let's move."

They started to run again. 

"Where are we going?" asked John. 

"I'm going to take some more samples of your blood, then I'm putting you on a transport back to London."

John stopped, his arm slipped out of Sherlock's grip as the taller man continued forward a few steps. 

"What is it?"

"Aren't you coming with me?"

"No."

"Then I'm not going," John crossed his arms.

"Why?"

"You are my friend."

"We known each other for a day."

"I'm not leaving you here. Especially if you are wanted."

"John, my brother is basically the government, I won't be wanted for long." Sherlock took a step closer. "You on the other hand, you must be kept safe."

"Why?" John breathed. "Because of my blood?"

"Yes!" yelled Sherlock, waiving his hands around. "Because of your blood! Don't you see? You are immune to the walkers, John. You have survived five years all alone. There are people here that would treat you like a lab-specimen. Some would even kill you just to make sure that you really couldn't become a walker."

John couldn't believe what he was hearing, though if Sherlock said it, it must be true. He suddenly felt sad and so very lonely. 

"But we are friends..." he said slowly. 

Sherlock sighed. He stepped a bit closer. John looked up at the taller man's face. 

"Yes, we are friends," Sherlock placed a hand on John's shoulder. "Strangely enough... That's why I want you to be safe. That's why I haven't told anyone who you are. I want you to be safe."

John smiled.

"I'm not going back without you," he said. 

"I'm flattered," smiled Sherlock.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a very short update. This little scene felt too cute to place together with the larger, more action filled, interlude that I'm giving you tomorrow.

**  
Interlude 1: Greg and Molly**

As the only two persons with off-turned smartphones walking around there was no real surprise that Greg Lestrade and Molly Hooper would eventually notice each other. 

They met in a glass corridor facing a street with large digital billboards, little traffic, and some nice-looking trees. Molly was admiring the vastness of the outside. Greg was slowly realising how easier police work was if he just looked around him. He had gotten some text from Sherlock Holmes about this before, but hasn't bothered to listen. 

"Hello," said Molly noticing that Greg was actually looking at her and not the billboards outside. 

"Hello," said Greg, noting the difference to talk to someone in person. 

"Isn't it wonderful?" she sighed to the street and then turned smiling to Greg. "I never knew there was so many things outside the photographs on the message boards."

"It's impressive," nodded Greg. 

There was a bit of an awkward silence between them, rocking on the soles of their feet the find something to talk about. 

Then they spotted two men running past outside the glass. The taller one with a white uniform and dark hair, the shorter one was a scruffy blond with care feet and a happy smile. 

The men are holding hands, not in a dragging way but in the way a companions would. They seem to have fun as they run. 

"Oh!" said Greg raising his hand to wave. "It's John!"

"John!" said Molly lifting her hand at the exact same time.

Their hands met by accident. Neither drew away, just looking at the touching skin. 

Molly, feeling heat on her cheeks, stammered something about needing to go to her work at the hospital and kill dead bodies. 

"That sounds interesting," said Greg letting his little finger slide over hers in a tiny bit of wonder. 

"Do you want to come?" she asked, still blushing sweetly. 

"Please," Greg smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

  
Interlude 2: Mycroft and Jim 

Mycroft looked away from the many surveillance screens in the control room. He had been going through live images from the last remaining sixteen cameras in London still working and able to transmit.

He had been intrigued by Sherlock's new acquaintance. The man had seemed strong, but it was clear to Mycroft that he had been too relaxed for someone living in a area with walkers. 

There hadn't been a single walker visible on the screens, and the cameras, except four in the area of Buckingham, were pretty far apart. 

London also seemed to be an exciting place to explore. Mycroft found himself toying with the idea of setting up a London base camp to explore the south of former Britain. 

If the island was free of walkers, except from themselves turning with the virus when they died, the possibilities were endless. It would lift the rationing on food for once. And... Mycroft took a breath to calm his nerves.

And if the island was clear then maybe they could strike up a better deal with Ireland. 

Ireland had two working international airports and radio-contact with some safe colonies in the Americas. And America had contact with Japan, the only country known to have cleared all free roaming walkers. Mycroft just loved foreign politics. 

He put up a map of London on the largest screen. It was old, but the structures should still be the same. 

"Jim?" he asked. "Do you think we should send a exploration group to London?"

"I wouldn't advice it," said Jim walking up beside Mycroft and turning off the screen. 

"Why not?" Mycroft huffed and turned the screen back on. "Sherlock was fine. The cameras don't show anything. That man..."

"That man was a mad vagrant," said Jim, turning off the screen again. "He didn't have a phone. He didn't even have shoes. And you know that the walkers are still out there."

Mycroft bit his lower lip.

"But Sherlock said he might have found a cure... It's possible..."

"When has Sherlock ever been sane?"

Mycroft had to admit this, but he was still hesitant. He cast a glance at the black screen. It would have been such fun to setting up a base, resurrecting Britain, open foreign contacts, and maybe even set up a shadow-government...

"I'm going to do it," Mycroft said, making up his mind. "I have trust in Sherlock. We need to put together a team..."

He got up from his seat, but he was stopped from walking to the large control table by Jim's firm grip on his wrist. 

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that, sir," said Jim, giving Mycroft a firm smile. 

"Wha-?"

Mycroft was interrupted by an alarm and a picture flashing on the screens depicting a picture of Sherlock holding a weapon and his new friend hitting a policeman. 

"Wha-?" he said again for a completely different reason. 

He moved again but he was still held in place by Jim's firm grip. 

"Leave it be, sir," said Jim calmly. "Just go back to work."

Mycroft looked at his assistant in confusion, then he noticed Jim was holding a test-tube in the other hand. 

"Is that Sherlock's antidote?" he gasped. "You took it! Why?"

"Isn't that obvious, sir?" Jim stepped closer to Mycroft, pushing their bodies together against the console table. "We have it good here. There is no need to change it. There is no reason to ever leave."

"But international politics..." breathed Myxroft longingly. 

"What do you want, sir?" Jim stroked his nose against Mycroft's cheek. "You want to talk to Ireland? The Americans? The Nordic base? We have all the means here. There us no need to go to London or anywhere else."

"But we can beat the walkers..."

"The walkers! Ha!" Jim laughed. "The last wild walkers starved to real death years ago. The island is clear."

"But then..." Mycroft glanced to the test-tube.

"But nothing," Jim dropped the tube, letting it shatter on the floor, and grabbing Mycroft with both hands. "Don't you realise, sir, that outside Scotland we are nothing? Out there there's no electricity, not even wi-fi!"

He shook Myxroft violently. 

"Jim?"

"Out there we have no control over the people! It will be independence, individualism, anarchy, evolution and technology will go backwards!"

"We can still keep together."

"No we can't!" screamed Jim.

"Yes we can!" Mycroft pushed Jim away and adjusted his uniform. "In what ever state of independence people will always need leaders, whether they know of them or not. And with an antidote we won't try to eat each other when we die!" 

Not to mention the wonderful business-, negotiation- and trade-opportunities such a serum would give the holder of it. Mycroft didn't mention this. 

"I won't allow it, sir," Jim had drawn a weapon and was pointing it at Mycroft. 

"Have you lost your mind? Sherlock is probably remaking his experiments as we speak."

"Then I will need to stop him too," said Jim moving the weapon to indicate left. "Get over there."

Mycroft might be many things but a bad brother he was not. Jim wasn't threatening him and the people, he was threatening Sherlock. 

"No," he breathed and rushed forward, knocked Jim over, and they fell to a control board in a pile of fighting limbs. 

Tbc


	8. Chapter 8

John had been smiling so much his face was in pain when they reached the hospital where Sherlock had his laboratory. He was still holding in to Sherlock's hand, blissfully taking in the feeling of having another human being so close. 

"We need to take some new samples," said Sherlock looking around for any observers or cameras as they moved through the corridors. 

The lights flickered, and there were some confused murmurings from adjacent rooms. Several of the nearby wall-screens changed images. There were grunts and crashes from several speakers. 

"What is going on?" asked John. 

"Something's going on in the control room," said Sherlock. "Either Mycroft has overcome his asexuality, or he has finally seen the true side of Jim. I deeply hope for both mine and mummy's sanity that it is the latter."

Again the wanted-picture of Sherlock and John flashed on the screens. John felt a bit uncomfortable. 

"I thought you said Mycroft would take care of it."

"He seems to be busy," Sherlock looked at his own small handheld screen and frowned. "They are looking for us. You better hide here and I'll go get the keys to the laboratory. I move fasteron my own." 

"You will be back?" John began to worry again. 

"Of course I will," Sherlock squeezed his hand. 

John felt calmer. Sherlock steered him into a supply closet and left after assuring him once again that he would soon be back. 

The closet was quite small. John was almost sitting on a large machine with big brooms attached to it. He wondered how long Sherlock would be. 

Suddenly the door opened and a man in a light-blue uniform, eyes on his small screen and ears attached to it with white cords, came inside. He didn't seem to notice John, who moved quietly out of the closet and let the man take the broom-machine. 

Feeling a bit exposed John hurried to the closest open door and snuck inside the room. It was some kind of a examination room, and had yet another door further in. The door had a large deadbolt attached to it. 

At that moment there was a rumbling of shouts and fighting from the speakers above and several screens blinked with the image of two men, one in white and one in black, fighting. 

The man in black suddenly looked directly to the screen. It was Jim, the man who had flirted with Sherlock earlier, he grinned and stretched out a hand towards some buttons. Mycroft was too slow to stop him. 

The door closed with a loud bang. John felt the handle, it was locked. He looked back at the screen, it was dark. He turned to the other door in the room, there were movement behind it. The deadbolt was off.

"Sherlock!" he called, banging on the door.

John heard the unmistakable sounds of a walker.

He he ran to the other door, pressing against it. There was something pushing from the other side. John looked around for a weapon, the closest he could see was a metal chair but it was out of his reach.  
How could he gave been so foolish to leave without his bow and axe, or even a knife?

The creatures on the other side of the door where strong, the door was opening. A bloody and pale arm was reaching out the crack. John punched harder, trapping the arm, making it bleed more. 

It wasn't enough. John would grow tired soon, the creatures would never. He had to fight to stay alive. This was a scenario he was familiar with.

John lunged for the chair, taking its back in both hands. The door opened and two freshly dead male walkers stepped out. 

He swung the chair at the first one, it stumbled to the floor. The other one was sturdier built so the swing only made it confused.

John tried again, aiming towards the head. The walker staggered.   
_  
"John?!" _a voice called from outside. 

"Sherlock!" John swung the chair again, shattering the walkers jaw, and spreading blood over the room. "I'm in here! There are walkers!"  
 _  
"Damn it!"_

Sherlock tried to open the locked door with what ever keys he had retrieved. John smashed the walker's brain in repeatedly with the chair. 

He cringed as he suddenly felt a clawed hand grip this jumper, and sharp teeth bite in at the exposed flesh at his neck. He had momentarily forgotten the first walker. 

It was just like the last the last time he had been bitten years ago. It hurt like hell.

He screamed and pushed the walker away, hitting it over and over again with the remains of the bloody chair. 

The door was pushed open. Sherlock barged in with his weapon ready and Molly and Greg at his back. There was no need for him to fire. 

John took a breath and feel to the floor in the pool of the dead blood splatter. He smiled up at Sherlock. 

"You came back."

Tbc


	9. Chapter 9

"Oh my god," said Molly rushing forward with tears in her eyes. "He has been bitten!"

Before John could say anything Sherlock pushed her aside. He knelt down before John, oblivious to the blood being soaked up by his white clothes. 

He began frantically checking John's pupils, touching his forehead, taking his pulse, and looking at the wound. John suspected that Sherlock was taking scientific readings, but there was a undertone of panic that was pure worry.

"I'm fine," said John. "It doesn't hurt that much."

Sherlock put their foreheads together, perhaps also to feel the temperature.

"How could this have happened?" asked Greg helping Molly to her feet. "The door is always bolted."

"It was Jim," said John through gritted teeth.

"I know," Sherlock was looking through his utility-belt and pulling up a syringe. "I saw the broadcast. Everyone saw it. But I didn't know it had anything to do with you."

"Are you taking a sample?" breathed John, holding out his arm. 

"Yes," Sherlock put the needle to John's skin. "I... Early infection..."

"I understand."

Molly came forward, putting a disinfected cloth on the bite, John hissed. She flinched.   
"Sorry," she said. "Do... Do you want... A shot? To help you...?"

"No!" said Sherlock sternly, putting his sample away. "He's fine. Just dress the wound. We are going back to the control room."

"Sherlock..." said Greg slowly.

"No," Sherlock stroked John's hair once, only once, before standing. "He can't turn. He can't."

"It's fine," said John catching Sherlock's hand and squeezed it before turning to Greg and Molly. "I'm immune."

"No one is immune," said Molly.

"He is," Sherlock held John's hand in a way that revealed that he really didn't believe his own words.

John couldn't say anything to comfort him. His immunity had worked once, years ago, who was to say it would still work now?

"Hurry up," said Sherlock. "My brother is in need of our help."

"I'm fine," repeated John. "Help me with a bandage. As Sherlock said, we need to hurry."

Molly nodded sadly and helped him. She and Greg probably thought he was being brave for Sherlock, letting the man down easy before the inevitable. In a way, perhaps he was.

Molly looked down on the bloody mess on the floor and the two beaten bodies. 

"Usually I just give them a shot, if they are up I use a dart gun," she wrinkled her nose. "This is a bit messier. The autopsy scan is going to be harder this time."

"Sorry," said John, though he wasn't. 

Greg checked the other room before they left, it was empty. 

They stole a small car-like vehicle outside the hospital, and headed back towards the control building. 

John noticed that several of the people they passed were no longer focused on their computers. They were looking around, smiling, walking, and talking to each other. 

He saw the woman from the waiting room, one hand in bandage, running her good hand trough another woman's hair. They were laughing. 

The wound in his neck hurt and he felt a bit feverish. Sherlock was casting worried looks his way. Molly held her dart gun in her hand. Greg had a hand on his weapon.


	10. Chapter 10

**  
Interlude 3: Mycroft**

Mycroft felt a stream of terror as Jim opened the door between the walkers and John. Not only because John was Sherlock's friend, but also because there hadn't been a killing by walkers in Scotland for decades. It was going to look bad in the approval ratings. 

The screen went blank before he could see what happened to John. He was also too busy fighting Jim to really have time to concentrate on anything else. 

"See reason, man!" he shouted and slapped Jim on the jaw. 

"You see reason, sir!" grunted Jim. spat blood on the floor, and hit Mycroft in the gut. 

Fortunately the bit of extra weight around Mycroft's belly took most of the impact, but he still gasped for air. 

Jim pushed him to the floor. 

"Lay still, sir," Jim said, taking out a small gun. "It will all be easier if you let me shoot you in the head. Or I'll have your corpse eat your brother's magnificent brain."

Mycroft stilled. He had to do something, now. He looked around for something to throw. 

Not far from him, under the control table lay an umbrella. He barely thought _so there's where it got to_ , before he grabbed it and lounged it with all his might at Jim. 

Jim's body didn't have the same protection around it's belly as Mycroft's, and the metal-tip of the umbrella actually pierced through the uniform and the skin underneath. Mycroft heard Jim grunt in pain.

Mycroft rolled, taking a better grip of the umbrella, he swung again. He hit the wound, making Jim stagger and loose balance. 

The weapon fell to the floor. Mycroft grabbed it before getting to his feet. 

Jim was pressing his hand over the gushing wound. His clenched teeth were still red from earlier. 

"You are a fool," he spat. "You want to give up all of this. We have absolute power!"

"There is no challenge in absolute power," said Mycroft, glancing at one of his screens. 

There were nearly a thousand messages from concerned citizens. He realised that much of his and Jim's fight had gone out all over Scotland. 

Right, damage control. He took a breath. 

At that moment Sherlock rushed in, followed by John, a policeman, a medical woman, and Mycroft's own assistant. 

John looked sickly and there was blood all over Sherlock's white uniform. Mycroft panicked at the sight. 

This must have caused an opportunity for Jim cause the man lounged himself at John with a scream. 

That was when both Mycroft, Sherlock and the policeman fired their weapons.


	11. Chapter 11

John wasn't prepared for Jim to jump him. He was even less prepared to hold a dead body in his arms moments later. Though having just bludgeoned two walkers made him a bit insensitive to the fact. 

He dropped the Jim to the floor and looked over at Mycroft. 

"He had it coming," said the man, straightening his white, non-blood-stained, uniform. "He lacked future vision."

"I hope that isn't your new campaign policy," said Sherlock before he suddenly paled. "John?"

"What?" asked John following Sherlock's stare to his stomach. 

There was a knife-handle sticking out from it. John looked at it curiously. 

"It doesn't hurt," he said stupidly. "Shouldn't it hurt?"

"Don't move," Sherlock rushed forward as John's knees buckled. 

"I _am_ a medic, you know," breathed John as he let Sherlock help him lie down on the floor. 

"Oh my..." Molly hurried forward, pressing her small computer to the side of the knife next to the entry point. "Move your hands, Sherlock, let me scan him. Greg, go get the first aid kit over there."

"Do you know what you are doing?" asked Sherlock taking John's hand. "You are a mortician."

"I..." she went quiet. 

"What?" Sherlock looked panicked. 

"I have done post-postmortem on walkers for years... He was bitten, but he is not decomposing internally. He is actually just really wounded by the knife."

"Well do something then!" yelled Sherlock. 

John just lay back. It didn't hurt, he had a bad fever, and he was tired. Why should he care what they did to him? He looked up at Mycroft's assistant who was looking at a screen of rapidly flowing text. 

"The citizens are starting to panic," she heard her say to Mycroft. "Sir, you need to talk to them."

Greg had delivered the first aid kit and then moved away to give Molly some room to work. 

John felt a tinge of pain corse through his body as Molly and Sherlock pulled out the knife. 

"Sherlock," he said. 

"Yes, John?" 

"Take a blood sample," John felt a bit delirious. 

"Now?" Sherlock frowned. 

"You will kick yourself later," John smiled up at him. "A bad wound means faster production of antibodies. If I die at least you'll get a good base for an antidote."

Sherlock blinked. John choose to not take it as an insult that Sherlock hadn't thought him that smart. Sherlock leaned forward and kissed John on the forehead.

"You are not going to die," said Sherlock with confidence before starting to prepare his sample kit. "I won't let you."

John smiled, he could hear Mycroft talking from further off than he really was. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Control speaking. I'm sure many of you have wondered about the recent disturbances in the system..."

Greg hunched down to Sherlock's level, he looked a bit pale. 

"I'm not sure how I'm supposed to report this," he said.

"Then don't bother," said Sherlock. "I wouldn't."

"We need to take him to the hospital," said Molly. "I've stabled him the best I can. I..."

She didn't have time to say another word. The dead body of Jim moved quickly towards the smell of fresh blood on John's stomach. John could feel the scrape of teeth against his skin. 

The last thing John heard before loosing conscience was Sherlock saying _Get off him, you fucker_ , Mycroft saying _Please, remain calm_ , and then a splattering noise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: the conclusion.


	12. Chapter 12

John awoke with something large and hard against his back, and something small and soft against his chest. 

The large and hard thing snored lightly, the small and soft thing purred loudly. 

He opened his tired eyes and noticed that he was home, in his own bed, in London. 

The small and soft thing against his chest was Gladstone, the orange cat squinted happily at him. A few other cats were also close by, seemingly content to have their human back. 

The large and hard thing, John noticed as he looked over his shoulder, was Sherlock's back pressing against his. They where both naked. 

"Oh," said John and sat up.

"John?" said Sherlock turning around and facing John. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," John took a breath. "A bit tired..."

He felt Sherlock touch his forehead. 

"The fever is gone," smiled Sherlock. "You have been in and out of conscience for five days. I was afraid that I had made made a mistake."

"That I would turn into a walker?"

"Yes," Sherlock bit his lower lip. "But I figured I'd be safe since that cats weren't afraid of you. I'm certain they know a few things that we don't."

"Of course they do," John laughed and patted Gladstone. "They are cats."

Sherlock smiled.

John touched his neck, feeling the bandage there. It didn't hurt, it was just uncomfortable. 

"If you are wondering were your clothes are, I took them off you cause you were sweating so much."

He pulled on a pair if trousers that where too short, and to wide, for him. 

"Fine," John looked Sherlock over with a coy smile. "Where are yours?"

"Being washed. I've been working hard on the vaccine the last few days, when not watching over you. Though I'm considering loosing the uniform, it's pasé in this new world."

"New world?" John frowned. 

"Mycroft has been busy," Sherlock huffed. "He has set up a base at the Parliament, and is currently directing recovery teams all over the city. He would like your expertise as soon as you feel up for it. The teams mostly go around staring at things in wonder." 

"I bet," he shook his head. "How did I get here?"

"I carried you," Sherlock sat down next to him and patted Gladstone too. "Well, not all the way, I just held you while in the helicopter, but the rest of the way I was carrying you."

"You carried me? Why?"

"Cause we are friends."

"That we are," said John, leaned forward and kissed him.


End file.
